How we speak in limbo languages!
Dumbstruck and watchful glances
raise the body's sticky heat
in midst of a tanned blind spot.
A weighted set of limbs grows ripe
upon the blisters of humming pensive gestures.
Friends born in the twinnkling eye of
finger-crossed days and head-back laughter,
the mountains in flames
are telling you to come watch the fields burn too
and let the smoke of corn
cradle the last drops
of sunlight we will taste
while our hands are not bound by blessed geography.
Leave the motor still
to let your twirling legs
twist around tree limbs
so that we may
pick the fruits of grand-girthed giants
and pull out the roots of faulty saplings
in order to plant new seeds
culled by bountiful earthen remembrance.
No comments:
Post a Comment